


She Dreams in Red

by MurderMonarch (MaidOfRage)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post Break-up, Reaver's fucking shit up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidOfRage/pseuds/MurderMonarch
Summary: Casca returns from the Arbor wilds without her Vallaslin. Everyone notices. Dorian is the first to actually say something."Can't find a better man"





	1. There’s No One Else Who Needs Know, She Tells Herself

The Inquisitor had many distinguishing qualities. For starters, she was an elf, and a particularly…”elfy” looking one at that. She had enormous, beetle-like black eyes and ears that stood far out from her head, parting her auburn hair. She had dark skin that shone in the sun, toned by loving exposure to its rays. She wore Viridium and Serpentstone armor, as green as the mark that burned on her hand. She practically disappeared in the forests and fields, but shone against the sun like the Breach at Skyhold, as if daring the Fade itself to take her again. Casca was well toned, nearly twice the size of Sera in bulk of muscle, and it showed in how ferociously she swung her shield into enemies. But above all, and perhaps the thing she was proudest of, was the golden mark of Mythal blazed onto her face.    
  
She had earned the vallaslin as young Hunter, and endured the pain of the full mark which covered her forehead, eyes, mouth, and descended down her neck to touch her collarbone. Casca was proud to bear the mark, and served Mythal in her daily life, taking moments of repose each day to contemplate her All-Mother.    
  
At least that was what she’d told Dorian in one of their many chats over tea or a meal. Casca had often said Dorian was one of the few humans she’d met (and the only one in the Inquisition) that she actually considered a friend, a fact that he preened over often. He sympathized with having few friends; perhaps that had drawn them together initially. Whatever the case, it offered Dorian a unique view of the Inquisitor as the complex, devout elvhen woman that she was.    
  
That was why when she entered skyhold with a bare face, his eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline. He said nothing as the Inquisition greeted her return, mobbed as she was by advisors, Faithful, and agents everyday. Surely everyone noticed, but strangely, no one seemed to comment. Was it taboo? Was it an illusion? Did people just not notice? Were people too scared to engage her one-on-one about elvhen custom? That he would believe...   
  
Dorian waited for Casca’s customary trip to visit him before letting those questions fly free.   
  
“I didn’t even know you  _ had _ a forehead.” Dorian said as Casca ascended the stairs to his reading nook in the library. The quip earned an exhale of air from Casca. A smile, but no mirth behind it, barely a laugh. Casca’s eyes were blank.  

Despite her extreme dislike of humans, it was easy to see that Casca was a friendly and excitable sort with people she trusted. She and Dorian had become close friends, sharing secrets and fears, spending time together reading or judging Sera’s clothing choices. She often laughed boisterously in the tavern, exchanging stories with Varric and the Iron Bull. With Cole she was a gentle smile. With Solas, she was nothing but a radiant glow.   
  
Someone else must have noticed. 

  
“You know, I was absolutely offended when you returned from the Wilds and didn’t see me first” 

“Sorry. I needed to have words with someone else before anything else.”    
  
“You can just  _ say _ you picked Solas over me.” Dorian teased, attempting to fall into their usual banter. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. The way he looks at you. The way you think I don’t see you kissing over top of my books but I do. Oh but I  _ very _ do.” He feigned disgust, but retained a smile.    


Casca looked at him levelly, unblinking with her unnervingly large eyes. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about your books anymore.” She finally responded with a faulty smile.    
  
Dorian’s demeanor fell. “Did something happen? Are you alright?” She had not said his name once.    
  
He recalled when he had first had a moment to speak with Casca. He had asked after the personalities of the Inquisition. She had quickly briefed him on her advisors, on her other agents, and on the Chargers, but for Solas she had gushed for almost an hour, taking tangents to give anecdotes on things he’d taught her or missions that had been made easier by his knowledge. Dorian didn’t think there had ever been a time they’d spoken where that name was not on Casca’s lips. And now it was completely absent.    
  
“Just...a different path.” She smiled again, empty and crooked. “I’m alright. It was meant to be this way.” 

“Casca--” Dorian began his face leveled with a measure of concern and reproach.    
  
She held her hand forward, interrupting him gently. “I just came to say hello. I have a lot of work to be done and I’m afraid I can’t afford to be distracted from my duties. I’ll see you again soon.” And just like that, she was gone.    
  
“ _ Distracted _ ?” Dorian repeated incredulously after her shadow, watching her hastily breeze down the staircase, nearly knocking over one of Leliana’s scouts who made the mistake of trying to salute her on the stairs.


	2. She Dreams in Color

_ I’ll see you soon _ became too much of a literal promise for Dorian’s liking. Dorian often caught _sight_ of Casca running about Skyhold; she was never not-busy. Not even during her usual times of repose where she would disappear just outside the walls to meditate and pray to her goddess. Those times seemed to vanish, as Casca was always consumed with some sort of duty.    
  
She would come by the library, then leave quickly with an armful of books almost as tall as Dagna. She spent hours conferring with Cullen and Leliana, exchanging heated orders and reports without so much as blinking.  The time was drawing near for a final confrontation to be sure, but Dorian only wrinkled his nose at this sudden change in her.    
  
The strangest thing was how obsessively she polished her armor. Her  _ everite _ armor. Dorian wasn’t sure he was even identifying the gleaming black substance correctly, but what mattered more to him was that it wasn't viridium. He was cut off by Vivienne on the stair as he descended into the courtyard to confront her. Trying to talk over Vivienne when she had her sights on the Inquisitor was a fool’s task. The knight enchanter often attempted to beguile or manipulate Casca into the best-desired course of action, but the Inquisitor was strangely smart to the Game. The conversations often left both women fuming, but smiling tightly.    
  
“Inquisitor Lavellan. If you have a moment, I have a letter from Val Royeux that I think you need to see.”    
  
“Letters to the Spymaster, you know that.” Her eyes never left her armor, scrubbing the stone and metal with a small brush, though it had never been used.    
  
Vivienne’s voice was tightly controlled as she folded her hands in front of her. “I understand protocol, Your Worship, but this is a more delicate matter that I believe would be better treated privately.” Casca turned the brand new breastplate, holding it in both palms. Vivienne’s terse expression gleamed in the reflection.    
  
She sighed, unwilling to play this particular facet of the Game at this time. “I see you are quite busy with your armor; I should leave you to that, darling.” She crossed one arm casually over her waist, considering the armor closely. “Actually, I couldn’t be more pleased you made the switch to everite. Such a cunning, classic material. Much less garish than the viridium.”

Casca clenched the breastplate with all her fingers, her knuckles turning white.   
  
Vivienne’s mask fell slightly as she noticed tiny wells of blood reflected in the armor. “Though you should probably try to stain it with the _enemies_ ’, blood, dear.” She said quietly, reaching down to remove Casca’s hands from their vice grip. The Inquisitor dropped the plate before Vivienne could touch her.   
  
“Is there anything else you need, Madame de Fer?”  

“No, Your Worship.” 

When she passed Dorian in the main hall, Dorian pulled her aside.    
  
“Vivienne, wait. What hap--”    
  
“You should talk to her. Now. I believe there is something not quite right with our leader. We cannot afford for her to slip at so crucial a time.”    
  
By the time Dorian had jogged out to the courtyard, he could only barely see Casca marching resolutely toward the stables. Dorian cursed and turned back into the castle, hoping to catch her before she arrived there. 

The quiet clatter of her armor drew Blackwall away from his sanding. “Inquisitor.”He greeted with his usual coldness.    
  
“May I use your sharpening stone? Mine broke during it’s last use..”   
  
“Why don’t you just got to the armory and have a new one iss--- It  _ broke? _ ” 

Casca shrugged her shoulders, her eyes coldly focused on Blackwell’s face.  “Whetstone’s break.”

“If you drop ‘em. They don’t just spontaneously shatter under use.” 

“Then I imagine yours is better than the one I was issued. May I use it?”    
  
Blackwall hovered at his work bench, every nerve in his frame shouting for him to lift his sword. But the Inquisitor stood between him and his arms, and somehow the idea of lifting a sword against her was worse than suffering under her cold black gaze. After a tense moment, Blackwall jutted his chin to a small shelf.    
  
“It’s just there.” Casca moved to take her prize. “How did you break it?”

“Worked it too hard, I suppose. Thank you.” She clipped, moving away without looking at him again. 

Dorian rushed into the stables, directed to Blackwall’s haunt by the Horsemaster. “Blackwall!” He nearly shouted, somewhat breathless from the confusion of setting foot in this part of the keep for the first time and the rush of trying to catch the Inquisitor. “Where --”    
  
“If you’re looking for the Inquisitor, she just left. With my whetstone. So I imagine you’ll find her somewhere sharpening weapons.”    
  
A quiet hiss of foreign curses left Dorian’s lips as he turned away, following the glint of everite across the grounds.    
  
“This place is madness.” growled Blackwall, turning back to his work. 

Despite being one of the few dark-skinned elves in the inquisition -- despite being one of the few  _ elves _ in the inquisition who weren’t enlisted soldiers or scouts -- Casca was suddenly impossible to find. Dorian finally gave in hours after his whirlwind encounter with Blackwall, lamenting to Iron Bull in the Herald’s rest.    
  
“She’s five feet tall and has brown skin and red hair! She wears those terrible bright blue pajamas! Why is it so hard to  _ find _ her?” Dorian wailed into a drink.    
  
Bull only shrugged. “Cole does all kinds of weird shit. Maybe she learned it from him.”   
  
“Cole is a  _ rouge _ and also a  _ spirit _ , Bull. Casca is walking around Skyhold in mourning colors giving orders like she might die at any second. Yet no one seems to know where she is. Not the cooks, not her advisors -- can you believe not even  _ Leliana _ can seem to pin her down? She knows when everyone takes a shit!”   
  
“Please don’t remind me of that.”   
  
“You’re not even a  _ little bit _ worried? I’ve asked everyone, Bull.” Dorian’s earnest  gaze and hand on his arm made Bull put down his flagon and run his fingers through Dorian’s hair.    
  
“Maybe she just needs a minute alone. She’s had some...pretty serious weirdness go down. I mean you saw that well thing.”    
  
“Still. For no one to know…”   
  
“Did you ask Krem? He tends to watch things.”    
  
Dorian blinked and looked over his shoulder to the usual table where Krem lurked, flirting with bar maids and telling stories. “Now that you mention it…” Dorian placed his hand on Bull’s wrist, pulling away the comforting caress. “Where  _ is _ Krem?”    


Cabot spoke up. “Saw him go outside with the Inquisitor.”    
  
Dorian balked. “We’ve been sitting here for Maker knows how long complaining about not being able to find her, and you’ve known where she was the whole time?”   
  
The bartender leveled Dorian with his usual scoff. “You didn’t ask me.”   
  
Dorian stood up. “You are a  _ terrible _ bartender.” 


	3. She Dreams in Red

The clash of shields bounced around the stone walls of the sparring ring, accompanied by an unfamiliar roar. Dorian and Bull jogged to the edge of the ring, in time to to see Krem curl under his shield. Casca’s training sword came down on it again and again, in thunderous claps. Her foot came back to kick at Krem’s forearms, his vambraces ringing in protest. 

“I yield!” Krem shouted over the storm of blows, his voice cracking with exhaustion. 

“Inquisitor! He yields!” Dorian shouted, making to jump the fence into the ring. Bull held him back and stepped in himself, picking Krem up by his shield arm and helping him stay on his feet. Once able to see his face, Iron Bull drew back slightly. 

Krem’s left eye was swollen, and nearly black with blood underneath. 

“Bit intense for night training, doncha think?” Iron Bull asked coldly. 

Krem was pale and panting, staying silent between his chief and his employer. 

“Just a bit of a shiner, chief. Happens in a spar.” Krem finally managed. 

“That’s right...figured I’d try some new blood. Krem and I have never sparred before now.” Casca shook the training shield off her arm, letting it teeter over the grass. “Nice work, Krem.”

“Yeah...I’m going to go get some water.” Krem said nervously, leaving the ring in a wobbly, exhausted gait. When he left, he began to pull away his bracers, clearly looking for injuries. 

“Maker, Casca! That’s more than a bit of a shiner!” Dorian hissed quietly as Krem disappeared into the tavern. 

“Didn’t know you hit to the face in sparring.” Iron Bull interjected, crossing his arms and looking down at Casca. Though it would have taken at least four of her to match his mass, she stood as if she could look down into his eyes. 

“We went hard. He can take it.” Casca moved passed them, seeming to head to water herself. “And so can you, right?”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dorian kept quiet in the tension, though his fingers itched with protective magic. 

“To check on my sparring partner.” She quipped. “Dorian. Meet me in the war room. I need you in venture party for a requisition.” She disappeared around the corner to the tavern, leaving Iron Bull and Dorian turned to shake their heads at each other. 

“She never takes me into the field.” Dorian mused, tapping his temple. “I thought it was just my job to stay here and listen to her recite her adventures.” 

“You better go. Make sure she doesn’t do anyone else like she did Krem.”

Dorian looked to Bull, who was steely. “Are you---”

“Where I’m from? Shit like that gets you reeducated.”

The requisition itself was swift and completely silent. Dorian didn’t even attempt to fill the silence as he, Solas, and Cassandra combed the Hissing Wastes with Casca for minerals needed for armor. She had explained that Dorian’s and Solas’ magics would be crucial for finding the materials in the dark, as well as aiding them if they got separated. Dorian didn’t believe it for a second. Solas stuck near Cassandra at the back of the party. 

The return to Skyhold was equally silent, only the occasional snorting of horses breaking the midnight quiet. As they passed the gates, Casca dismounted and handed her horse off to an attendant. Rather than move towards the stable to care for her mount, she started towards the training area. “There’s a drop by the quartermaster. Put our finds there. Get some rest.”

Everyone had already disbursed, leaving Dorian confused. “Am I the only one who hasn’t gone crazy?” He whispered to the gatekeeper, who only shrugged. Throwing up his hands, Dorian made his way to the tavern for a late meal, the sound of Casca’s sword tearing into training dummies following him. 

He lazily greeted the Iron Bull and Cole -- maybe, he couldn’t quite remember -- with a disheartened grunt. Dorian flopped onto a bench and ordered his dinner. When it arrived he picked at it sullenly. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“It’s just the same thing. She is acting strange, isn’t she?” Dorian asked, looking over to Bull for assurance. The tavern was empty save for the two of them and whoever was snoring upstairs. Even Cabot was tucking in for the night after making sure the serving girls were well. They had returned late from expeditions before, but this was extreme. 

Iron Bull sighed heavily, low and begrudging, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Cassandra’s thick accent spilled forth. 

“Help! The Inquisitor!” Cassandra’s level alto cracked with what could have been terror or despair. Blood was welling out of a gash on her collarbone, superficial, but too close for comfort. 

The two men immediately scrambled to action, reaching for weapons and dashing outside, following Cassandra’s desperate panting. 

“She’s gone mad! Or she’s...possessed! Maker, I don’t know!” Cassandra gushed as they passed by her discarded sword on the grass. Smoke breezed by them as Cole materialized near the training dummies in the courtyard. He stood eerily still, eyes too wide to be human, as shrapnel from the chaos whizzed by him.

“Get down, Cole!” Dorian shouted, his staff sizzling with electricity. 

Cassandra’s shield buckled under Casca’s heel as she tore through the courtyard like a rabid animal. Black blood shone in the moonlight on the grass, the stone, and the rolled dirt. The warrior was ripping through the courtyard as if intending to tear it down. Drooling and foaming at the mouth like a dog as she roared and uprooted trees, slashed at the earth with her weapon, her hands, or anything she could find. 

Signs of the fight between Casca and Cassandra were evident in the Seeker’s terror and then bruised, bloody mess of Casca’s hands. Blood dripped from her knuckles like water, staining her tunic -- her tunic for Maker’s sake, she had done all this outside her armor.

“Maker...” Dorian whispered. 

Iron Bull charged her, whizzing past Dorian with surprising speed for his size. When Casca turned on him, Dorian understood why Cole was frozen. Her enormous eyes shining in the dark like a cat’s, were completely devoid of their usual light. A swirling, red darkness overtook them and bristled through her body like a fit, bubbling out of her mouth in a demonic roar as Bull’s entire mass slammed into her.

Despite the size difference, she held her stance, catching Bull’s arms in her hands to keep them from clasping at her body. The wrestled like that for breathless seconds before Casca’s shrieking was muffled by Bull’s tight hold. Dorian could distantly hear Bull shouting something to her, but her roars seemed to deafen the mage. 

“Dorian! Do something!” Cassandra shouted, gesturing at the grappling warriors and ringing Dorian from his terrified paralysis. 

“Like what, Cassandra? I could hit Bull!” 

Another roar tore through the night, but this time it belonged to the Iron Bull. Blood shot into the wind, spraying in a grotesque splash and coating Casca’s teeth and eyes. 

She had torn a chunk of flesh from Bull’s neck and managed to wrest one of her arms free, clawing at his face and upper body. 

“Now Dorian!!” 

Bull and Casca were blown apart by a surge of electricity, Casca’s body flying through the courtyard and landing in a rag doll heap in the grass. Bull stayded kneeling where he fell, clasping the wound as his neck. Blood welled through the gaps in his fingers and ran over his wrist. 

Panting, he stood, walking over to the Inquisitor’s body and scooping her up under one arm. 

Cole was gone. 

Dorian and Cassandra stood silently, terrified, watching Bull carry her into the castle. 

“Get a healer.” He growled.


	4. Talkin' to Herself

Bull had called it the Reaver State, but Dorian had never seen a reaver rampage like that outside of a battlefield. Ever. By the time they had cleaned up the courtyard and gotten Cassandra, Casca, and Bull patched up, it was morning. Cassandra didn’t say a word, but only studied the floorboards, looking sick. Dorian could only pray no one would snoop, allowing the Inquisitior to rest and recover under the influence of a sleeping draught. 

His prayers went unanswered, as he should have guessed, when Varric ascended the stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters. There was a moment of silence, Dorian watching Varric with exhaustion as the dwarf waited on the landing. 

“Is she awake?” Varric tried gently. 

Dorian shook his head. “She’s drugged. Unfortunately.”

“And Cole?” 

Dorian blinked, “What about him?”

“He’s in there, isn’t he?” 

Varric and Solas were the two people who were actually able to find Cole at any given moment. Likely due their role in helping his anti-binding amulet work. Dorian leaned against the Inquisitor’s door, hearing the muffled sounds of the blond boy’s voice. 

“...turns out, he is.” He murmured incredulously. 

Varric’s stocky hand patted Dorian’s elbow. “Go get some rest, Sparkler. I got it.” 

“I--”

“Go on, Dorian.” Varric said, looking at him with a genuine concern that made Dorian comply, albeit wiltingly. 

Once he was sure Dorian was actually headed for some rest, Varric quietly opened the door to Casca’s quarters. Cole was there, perched at the edge of the large orlesian bed where Casca lay breathing softly. Her bedroll covered in furs where she usually slept was still undone near the desk in the corner. 

Cole was holding his knees, staring down at Casca and whispering softly. Words came in terrible strings -- partial thoughts, some elvhen, some common -- so quickly that Varric could hardly hear them. He approached softly and quietly, careful not to disturb Cole or surprise the Inquisitor. He stood still in his tracks when he was finally able to hear what Cole was vomiting. 

“Solas, Solas, Solas, Solas, souless so--” Cole stopped, staying completely still and silent. Casca’s eyes fluttered open. She sat up, but said nothing. Confused, Varric said nothing too. Casca looked between them, laughing mirthlessly. 

“I think this is as quiet as you’ve ever been, Cole.” She said quietly, already moving to sit up. 

“That’s because you don’t feel anything. You don’t… You don’t want me to help.” 

 

“I think it might just be the sleep, kid. Why don’t you--” Cole was gone. “Well. Nevermind.” He said quietly, turning to see Casca already standing and heading to her armor. 

“Woah are you crazy? You can’t get armored up after all that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Casca said flatly, quickly pulling on her tunic and pants. 

“You don’t remember?” 

“No.” 

Varric balked at her, incredulous. “You tore a two inch chunk out of The Iron Bull. With you teeth!” 

Casca paused with her back to him, taking a deep breath. “If that’s true, then I need to learn to control this state.” She already had her greaves and vambraces on. He’d never seen anyone armor so fast. “Excuse me.” 

She shouldered past him, pulling her chest piece on. He wanted to stop her, but it was more than the everite that armored her. Nothing he could get through anyway, so he let her go and went straight to the tavern. Someone had to do something.


End file.
